The Wren's Cage
by bebeloved
Summary: This story takes place in an alternate timeline where Danarius wins the battle in the Hanged Man and successfully retrieves Fenris. As the elf struggles to come to terms with the loss of his freedom and the impossibility of rescue or escape, he meets another lyrium branded slave who serves as the only bright spot in a deep depression.
1. Still Water

Dear Reader,

This story was strongly influenced by "In Salt and Gold" by LoquaciousQuark. This writer did an incredible job of characterizing Danarius, and I'm borrowing a lot of that characterization in my writing. Thanks LQ for your inspiring work!

I have big plans for this storyline. I will update as frequently as I can.

**Fair warning: Read this before you continue, please!**

This is for very mature audiences. By this, I mean that if you aren't eighteen then you should really go read some funny Hetalia fics or something because this not going to be for you. See, FCC? I said it.

The story deals with master/slave relationships, and as the story develops there will be graphic violence, possibly some run-of-the-mill smut, implied and possibly explicit non-con. If you are going to be uncomfortable about the nature of the sexual content then please spare me the lecture about how I'm ruining society and just read something else. I appreciate your discretion.

And now, if I haven't scared everyone off, there are the usual disclaimers:

A minor amount of dialogue and the majority of characters in this story are the intellectual property of Bioware and their associated artists and game developers. I do not presume to claim them in any way as my own but have used them to establish continuity.

All other aspects of this writing are mine. Please don't plagiarize. Justice is watching you.

Sincerely,

B.

Edited 10/6: Fixed a multitude of typos, and corrected some awkward phrasing.

* * *

The Wren's Cage

Chapter 1: Still Water

"You weren't always this way, Fenris. Once, you had affection for me. I remember it fondly."

Dark shapes swam before Fenris' eyes as Danarius' spell broke over him like a wave. He could hear otherworldly whispers from the fade, coaxing him to lay down his sword, to rest a while.

_Sleep. Your suffering has been long... it is time to rest.  
_

Fenris struggled to clear his mind, shaking his head violently to brush off the fatigue and straining to see the battleground through the magic that swirled around him like a gauze curtain. Through the veil of exhaustion, Fenris could register a red haired woman with her back to the wall, teeth clenched as she raised her shield to ward of the attacks of a half dozen mercenaries. He thought he knew her, was sure that he knew her name, but it was so hard to remember… A dark haired man with a dagger in each hand struggled to stand, clutching at a bolt buried in his hip. Again, Fenris was sure they were acquainted, and wondered vaguely if he ought to be worried about the peril imposed by the injury.

_You deserve a reprieve. Lay down your arms and rest._ It was harder and harder to resist, and Fenris slid down to his knees, contemplating the pointless heft of his greatsword and longing to release it.

From the corner of his eye, Fenris saw a diminutive elven woman vault towards him, using the blunt end of a wooden stave to catapult herself nimbly over a pair of encroaching slavers. She flicked her tiny wrist against the bladed end of her staff in midair and landed in a swirling puddle of menacing power. The elf reached out a thin pale arm towards a grey-haired man. (What was his name? Fenris knew him, he was certain. Some latent emotion surged beneath his fatigue, but passed to quickly into the void of exhaustion to be identified.) The tiny elf's power shot towards the man, but the line of blood magic halted in the air and separated into tiny droplets, falling to the floor in a bloody spray. The tiny mage's eyes widened as the struggled to pull back her arm, which was slowly coating with a layer of dull stone. Within seconds she was as still as the morbid statues in the Gallows, petrified.

_It is of no importance. You have fought so many battles… others will fight now. You deserve to rest, to relax._

The sound of shouting reached him as if through water, the words unintelligible through the dark shroud that surrounded him.

_Your sword is so heavy. Lay down you burden and sleep._ Fenris saw his armored hand open, and his sword drop to the floor. That was strange… he hadn't meant to do that. He thought that he needed that weapon for something, but Fenris' certainty was wavering. His eyes and limbs felt so heavy.

The last thing Fenris saw was the red haired woman, eyes wide as she shouted… something. What was she saying? _It doesn't matter. Sleep. _A sword pressed up beneath her jaw, and Fenris barely registered her cry of anger before his eyes closed of their own volition and he dropped like a stone into dark, still water.

* * *

Fenris awoke aching and confused in a grey space that seemed to rock from side to side, disorienting him and making his stomach lurch. He was dizzy, but when he moved to press his hands to his head and steady his senses Fenris found his wrists bound by chains on either side of him, unable to be lifted more than a few inches from the rough wooden floor. His ankles were also chained in front of him, keeping his aching legs straight so that Fenris had no choice but to sit still against the wall of the dark, lurching room. The darkness was not complete, with scant light filtering down through the ceiling above and illuminating the dust in the stifled air. He could smell wood rot, urine, and salt, and realized gradually that he was oppressively thirsty.

Fenris calmed himself, trying to remember where he was and why. Vague flashes of memories, indistinct and isolated, made the sequence of events difficult to decipher. He saw his sister's passive expression as she turned her gaze from him, Aveline shouting his name as she raised her shield, Hawke stumbling and staring at a bolt in his side, and the Dalish blood mage's forest green eyes, enormous and filled with a bestial fury as she slowly turned to stone.

And suddenly, Fenris recalled a pair of calculating grey eyes above him as he dropped his sword to the ale-dampened floor of The Hanged Man. _Danarius._

Fenris felt numb, as if all of the blood had been drained from his body. The magister had discovered him, and he knew suddenly where he was: Sailing back to slavery in the filthy belly of some mercenary vessel, towards the corrupt City of Mages and its crowds of slaves and refugees, lorded over by magisters like Danarius. Fenris was scant weeks away from being, once more, nothing but a slave to the whims of a blood mage.

_I was always a slave... freedom was a fleeting illusion that I was foolish to trust. _The thought numbed his senses.

Fenris closed his eyes in despair, wishing desperately to awaken in his decrepit mansion with a bottle of wine in his fist. Unfortunately, the swaying of the ship and the stench of the hold made it impossible to even pretend that he was home. _I'll never see Kirkwall again. My home will be a swept cell. _Claustrophobia began to overwhelm him, as if he might perish without fresh air. Fenris struggled to suppress his panic, knowing that survival must come first in his mind. Right now, what he needed most was not freedom or fresh air, but water. Anything to quench his thirst would have been welcome.

As if in response to his thoughts, a blinding light materialized above him. Fenris squeezed his eyes closed and turned his head to the side, shielding his dry and salt stung eyes. He heard the impact of a hatch falling open and a slight shifting sound as someone quietly descended a ladder. Something soft and wet pressed to his cracked lips, and water poured across his dry tongue. The feeling of relief was blissful, but when Fenris felt the slightest feather of a stroke from a finger at his throat, he spat the liquid back with a guttural growl. Fenris twisted his neck to escape the offensive contact and opened his eyes to discover who would _dare_ to touch him.

It was an elf, barely grown, in a thin dress that cinched at the waist and barely covered her knees. Her cloud-spun hair billowed around her face as she stepped back, only slightly alarmed. In his disoriented state, Fenris could not be certain that she was not some fade spirit or Dalish ghost, pale markings like vallaslin barely visible against her pale skin. Fenris saw that she wore some kind of silver mask over her mouth and chin, secured behind each ear with a delicate wire. He was not sure what to make of this apparition as she peered at him with eyes the soft blue of a bird's egg, mildly surprised and Perhaps even curious. Fenris calmed himself as he studied her, trying to decide if she was a figment of his mind, frail from thirst. Cautiously, the apparition held a water skin up before him, a silent question forming on her face. Fenris breathed deeply and gave the slightest of nods. Whatever the nature of this strange ghost that visited him, he did not have the will to refuse a drink. The spirit held the lip of the skin to this mouth, and Fenris drank deeply. The water was warm, but it spread strength through him just the same. _Thank the Maker_, he prayed uselessly. Surely his situation was evidence that the human's god was not listening.

When the skin was empty, the spirit silently withdrew. Fenris could see the shining white markings curling down her calves and over her bare feet as she climbed gracefully from the hold.

_That isn't vallaslin._ He realized, startled by the implication. _And spirits do not climb ladders._

Fenris had never seen another creature, living or dead, with lyrium brands. It made curious sense that he would finally encounter another like him _here_, in Danarius' clutches. She could have been his twin, but for her blue eyes and pale blonde brows. He wondered at her silver mask. Was she disfigured? Fenris couldn't imagine Danarius tolerating ugliness amongst his possessions. He found himself powerfully curious about her, and what she was hiding behind the mask.

Not that it mattered. Fenris' curiosity waned as he reminded himself that the girl was surely a slave, mindless and obedient as he had been once, perhaps even affectionate towards Danarius. Fenris' expression darkened as he condemned her, a contemptible mirror of what he had been, and what he would soon be again: Content in his role, with no thoughts beyond pleasing his master, a requirement of survival.

Fenris remembered a time, though it seemed like ages ago, when he had asserted that some things must be worse than slavery. He closed his eyes against the grey gloom of the hold, and tried desperately to believe it now.


	2. Maleficar

Dear Reader,

I have had no beta readers, so please alert me to any typos, incorrect tense, unclear pronouns, or places where a word has been used too often. I will make necessary changes.

My goal for chapter 3 is Sunday evening. I am in New York City this weekend and will be too busy to write, but chapter 4 will likely be in place by Tuesday. I promised adult content, but be patient with me. Depravity looms.

Sincerely,

B.

Edited 10/6: Fixed a ridiculous number of typos. Also, listened to Transatlanticism by Death Cab and marveled at how well it fits the reading.

* * *

The Wren's Cage

Chapter 2: Maleficar

Bound as he was in his swaying grey hole, there was not much for Fenris to do but think and sleep. Sleep was the more preferable of the two activities, as it kept panic at bay. Being unable to move freely, without access to sustenance, fresh air, or even a bucket in which to relieve himself, it was difficult to remain calm. If Fenris allowed his mind too much freedom, he immediately felt the terror of his situation creep upon him, combined with a desire to flee that he could not have resisted were it physically possible to comply. Of course, Fenris was aware that this was deliberate. He had seen a dozen or more slaves broken with similar tactics: kept so confined and deprived of stimulation that their release into the drone and abuse of slavery seemed a kindness in comparison, compelling them to do anything to avoid a return to the darkness. As transparent as the measures were, they were effective. After two weeks with only the scant sun filtering through the loose boards of the ceiling to illuminate the filth in which he sprawled, daily life in Danarius' household might have been a mercy.

Of course, Fenris berated himself for such thoughts. He must resist complacency, no matter how tempting, lest he again become like _her_: The ghost-like slave who climbed in and out of the hold each day, passive and silent. He recognized so much of himself in this creature that she could have been his reflection; her narrow elven frame, the shock of white hair, the lines of lyrium laid on her skin like porcelain glaze. But it was her mannerisms that most disconcerted Fenris, because they were so damn_ familiar. _She did not fear him, pity him, or show any emotion other than a mild curiosity, like that which he himself might have shown for an urchin in lowtown. She came each day bearing water and occasionally a piece of a loaf or shred of dried meat, performed her duty without speaking a word, and climbed back into the square of sunlight in the ceiling. Not a single emotion showed behind her delicate mask, as if she were a painted string puppet from Orlais.

Was he to become a husk once again? Fenris shuddered to recall the void of emotion that he had cultivated as a slave, drowning any thought or feeling that did not match Master's wishes until his mind was a sea of grey nothingness.

_Danarius! Not Master. _Fenris slammed his head back against the wooden wall of the hold and cursed himself, fearful of how easy it was to fall into old habits.

Occasionally Fenris' thoughts drifted to his companions in Kirkwall, and each time a twinge of guilt pierced him like a chisel. He may not have felt much for them, even detested a few, but it pained him to think of Aveline with the sword's edge beneath her jaw, or Hawke stumbling with a bolt lodged in his hip. Did they even still live? He and Hawke had been friends, or as close to friends as Fenris could be with someone so sympathetic to apostates. They had shared a sense of justice in many ways, clearing the city district by district of slavers and fanatics. Fenris had felt a sense of purpose with Hawke and his strange band of followers, as if he contributed to something important through their work. To be thrown again into a world where one's only thoughts could be for their own survival was more difficult having known the rogue.

While the idea of rescue never crossed Fenris' mind (Hawke had only so many friends who tolerated him at all, and for even one of them to risk their lives to deliver him was farfetched at best in his opinion), he did entertain plans for escape. The only one worth thinking seriously about involved, unfortunately, a great deal of waiting. If he could lure the magister into a false sense of safety, convince the mage that he was again a faithful slave, then Fenris might eventually have the opportunity to feel Danarius' heart in his hand. The danger was that the ruse would become a reality… how long could he wear a mask of passive obedience before it simply became his face?

These were the thoughts, in the grey hole of the ship's bottom, which haunted Fenris, along with the pale ghost.

After so many days in the belly of the tossing vessel that Fenris could not longer recall exactly how long he had traveled, she descended the ladder with more supplies than usual. Her thin arms hefted two buckets, which she sat on the floor before him. He could see water filling one, and in the other a variety of sundries including a water skin, fabric, a tiny clay pot, and the largest meal he's seen since his last lunch in Kirkwall: a half loaf of bread, a block of cheese as big as his palm, and several strips of salted meat. He stared so long at this meager feast that he did not notice the ghost preparing to bathe him until he felt the sting of salt against his ragged left arm.

Fenris startled, trying to tear himself from her touch. "I will not be bathed like a child!" He snapped hoarsely, snarling and attempting to twist away from her. However, Fenris' movement was limited by the shackles and several sedentary weeks. He thought that as he struggled he heard her sigh, with a hint of frustration. So there was a mind inside her, though obviously suppressed.

She ignored his protests and continued her task, wiping away a fortnight's filth from his arms. Her touch exacerbated the constant burn, usually only a faint annoyance, that his brands caused him. Fury rose in Fenris' chest, and a faint glow spread over his own lyrium brands in an impotent warning which the ghost summarily ignored. When she reached his shoulder, Fenris desperately turned his head to use the only weapon he had: He bit her hand.

Fenris felt the sting on his face before he realized what had happened. She had slapped him across the mouth, and now stood holding a dripping rag and staring at him with stern consideration. Fenris could have sworn that beneath the silver mask her lips were pursed.

She threw the rag down into the pail in frustration, sloshing seawater across the floor. Fenris relished in his ability to finally get a rise from the spectral girl who vanished up the hatch, leaving her supplies behind.

_She will tell Danarius what's happened. _Fenris speculated, expecting any moment to be dragged up to the deck and whipped. He found with some relief that he didn't care in the least if she did. He did not fear pain, not today. Fenris thought his conjecture confirmed when the hatch opened and she again descended, this time followed by two mercenary guards who proceeded to release his shackles.

Instead of hauling him above to be punished, the men simply stood to either side of him as he flexed his knees with no small amount of pain.

"Master has decided that you may bathe yourself."

Fenris startled at her voice, soft and musical and completely unexpected. Indeed, he had wondered if she had a tongue at all. More curious than her voice though were her words… why would Danarius allow such a thing after Fenris had injured a slave of obvious value? The tactic made him wary. Had she not told him? Did she seek to in-debt him by her omission? Fenris reached for the discarded rag and cleaned himself as she stood to the side with her eyes mercifully averted. The amount of filth that coated him was humiliating enough without an audience, and Fenris completed his task as quickly as he could.

The ghost approached, eyes still fixed on the wall to his right, and held out a folded garment: A pair of grey drawers and some loose-fitting white linen breeches. He dressed and ran stiff fingers through his damp hair, which was far longer than it had been the last time he'd touched it. The pale woman retrieved the clay pot and a strip of clean cloth from the pail and reached for Fenris' raw left wrist, which he instinctively withdrew with a frown. The creature closed her eyes as if to collect herself, and Fenris wondered if she was as much of a husk as he had judged her.

"Your wounds are festering. Allow me to dress your wrists."

Again he was startled by her lyrical voice, muffled though it was by her silver mask. Her musical intonation reminded him of distant birdsong drifting through the broken windows of his home in Kirkwall, utterly nonthreatening and sweet. He held out his wrist cautiously, and her tiny hands work efficiently to spread a clear salve smelling of elfroot and embrium before wrapping a cloth bandage deftly and securing it with a tidy knot. He promptly offered his other wrist, yellow and raw from the shackles. Anders could scarcely have done a better job of treating him without magic. Fenris noticed her quickly smear some salve onto her own bitten hand; He had not broken the skin, but it was beginning to bruise. She said nothing and did not meet his eyes as he watched her treat herself, and it took only a moment before she withdrew.

Fenris took advantage of his meal while the guards and the ghost stood silently by. He tried to eat slowly, knowing that it was a poor idea to overwhelm his body after two weeks of starving- and he had starved. He could fit his fist underneath his own ribs, and wondered if he could even have hefted his blade to fight for escape, were it nearby. Finishing the fare, he looked to the woman standing beneath the open hatch, a corona of light spilling over her and reflecting off of her lyrium markings, very different from his own. They gathered at her throat, spilling onto her cheeks and chest in delicate curls like the wispy roots of a decorative plant.

"Come. Master has summoned you." The command was almost singsong, and she retreieved the two pails before climbing the ladder to the deck. Her head disappeared above the ceiling, and Fenris felt the guards at his back ushering him towards the ladder. He followed her numbly, lifting his hand to shield his face from the sunlight that bored into his unaccustomed eyes. He felt unsteady, the deck testing his stiff legs with its pronounced swaying. Regaining his balance and blinking against the light, he saw his ghostly twin fully illuminated for the first time. In the full daylight, he could hardly believe that he imagined her a spirit. She was just an elf, like any other. In the bright light, her lyrium brands could scarcely be seen against her anemic skin. She was not a ghost, of himself or anything else. Only a slave.

He followed her across the deck to a space by the railing, fifteen paces or so from a large cabin door with a polished knob. She knelt, and he knelt beside her, hands flat against the tops of his thighs and eyes trained on the ground before him. That he knew the position so well, needing no reminder of where to focus his gaze or whether to hunch or square his shoulders (he squared them without thinking) frightened him. He did not want it to be easy for him to assume this role again. Fenris could not loose himself to this vacuous existence if he ever meant to be free again.

They knelt for an hour, and all the while Fenris could hear the crew bustling, carrying out shouted orders. The ship must be arriving in port. Soon the heat and sweat of Minrathos would swallow him and he would be one in an endless crowd of elven slaves, distinguishable only by his brands.

The door of the cabin to their left swung open, and Fenris heard finely soled boots snap against the deck's worn wood. His downward cast gaze afforded him a view of the bottom third of Danarius' red silk robe.

"He is still filthy. You were to see him cleaned." Danarius' affected tone was poison to Fenris' ears, and he suppressed a cringe at the sound.

"Please forgive me Master. I required soap, and there was n-" Her voice, lilting and soft, was extinguished with a snap as Danarius backhanded her.

"Your excuse means nothing. I now have the nuisance of being seen with an unclean slave." The girl righted herself silently, without as much as a whimper. This was the least of the offenses she had endured, surely. Fenris knew Danarius possessed many methods of debasing his property, and the back of his hand was not on the short list of tactics Fenris feared.

He felt a hand on his head, manicured nails running faintly across his scalp. "My little wolf, returned home after all this time. I missed you, pet." The magister pulled his fingers through Fenris' white hair, sweeping down his jaw with the slightest of touches to place the pad of his index finger beneath Fenris' chin and tip it upwards. His Master's expression was complex, with a smile that might have looked tender had it not been accompanied by cunning steel grey eyes which appraised his property as one might an expensive antique. His gentleness, his affection, disturbed Fenris more than his rage. It felt controlled, purposeful, and sinister, like the tales of witches who lure children to their lairs with promises of sweets.

"Surely you missed me, Fenris."

It was not a real question, but a demand for submission. Fenris choked on his words. "Of course, Master." His voice was hoarse in protest, and it seemed as if Fenris' very body rebelled against the response. How he longed to destroy this man, to turn him inside out with the wrench of a gauntlet-clad claw.

The sounds of the city were near at hand, and Danarius left them briefly to converse with the captain of the ship about the delivery of certain cargo. Fenris kept his mind empty, trying not to think of the estate to which they headed, and instead relished the fresh air in his lungs and the sunlight on his sallow skin. There was a good chance that he would not taste them again soon.

Danarius returned and locked a steel collar around Fenris' neck before he had a chance to contemplate refusal. Fenris saw the end of a chain lead in the magister's hand, and though his hate surged against this humiliation Fenris was hardly surprised. Danarius didn't trust him not to run, which was wise. Fenris felt the chain draw upwards, and allowed himself to pulled into a standing position. His female counterpart stood as well, requiring no collar to keep her in place a step behind Danarius' right shoulder as he led Fenris down the causeway and into the oppressive crowds of the last bastion of the Tevinter Imperium.

Fenris managed to keep to keep himself calm and pliant as he walked behind Danarius through the crowds and markets of the dock district, the stink of the lower city, and the smooth stone streets of the upper city. But when his eyes caught sight of the gates of Danarius' estate, Fenris could no longer force his feet to move forward. Despite the knowledge that to obey was to survive, and to survive was to escape, he could not force himself to pass that threshold willingly, to abandon himself in the grasp of this maleficar. Fenris planted his feet, and though Danarius pulled him from his feet, cursing and kicking him, Fenris would neither more nor speak.

In a fit of frustration, Danarius threw the lead chain to the ground and turned on his heel. "Get him inside, Ava. See him properly cleaned and presented to me in an hour or I will have both your skins on my hearth."

The pale girl turned to him calmly. _Ava_, thought Fenris. _What was your name before Danarius bought your soul with a handful of silver?_

"Stand up." She commanded softly. Fenris ignored her. What made Danarius think that this lone girl could persuade him to enter the estate when the magister himself had not been able?

Ava sighed softly, with the same small hint of frustration that Fenris had sensed in the hold of the ship. Or was it sadness? Her blue eyes seemed clouded with some distress, and Fenris saw her hook one finger over her left ear. The silver wire loop that held her mask in place came away with it, revealing the bottom third of her face. She held the mask gently in her hand, and Fenris could see that it was as thin as silk. He could also see that she was not disfigured in the least; The girl might have seemed pretty, had he been considering it at the time. He was instead consumed with a paralyzing terror that locked his limbs, a manifestation of his irrational (was it?) fear that should he enter the estate, he would never emerge.

"_Stand up_." She said again, and her voice was somehow different. It had the same lyrical quality, but seemed closer somehow, as if she had whispered in his ear. Fenris was, unbelievably, compelled to obey, and though his mind raged against it he found himself on his feet.

"_Follow me_."

Fenris felt his feet move under him, and he was following her. The doorway of the estate loomed ever closer, and a silent scream filled his head and chest. _What wicked power is this_? Surely it was blood magic that bent his limbs against his will, but from a slave? What magister would allow a slave to possess such dangerous power, usually kept for themselves?

As Fenris followed Ava towards the looming doorway, he cursed her, hated her. He felt the threshold under his bare feet, and it was as if part of him was ripped away as he entered the estate. His will, his hope, and any tenderness he had learned in his freedom, all too brief, left him at the door. Fenris entered his prison with nothing but a well of hate and terror, sinking deep into his abdomen like a sickness.

And yet the contemptible witch continued on, and Fenris followed her into the mouth of the beast.


	3. Birdsong

Dear Reader,

The song in this chapter is a semi-original French translation based on "Motherless Child," a very haunting spiritual. I altered the original lyrics somewhat as they are a bit repetitive, but my changes sound much nicer in French than they do in English… I'm not a lyricist. Dommage! I won't bother you with a full English translation, but the final line of the chapter reads "Sometimes I feel like a motherless child, a long way from home."

This chapter is absurdly long; my apologies. The chapter breaks in my outline may need adjusting.

If you are enjoying my writing, please take a moment to review. I'm a little fish in a big pond, competing for readership with stories that have dozens of chapters and hundreds of reviews. Whether you have constructive advice or praise, I'd enjoy knowing that someone is actually reading.

Enjoy,

B.

* * *

The Wren's Cage

Chapter 3: Birdsong

Last night's punishment had been painful, more so than Fenris remembered. A decade of freedom had softened him despite the constant combat, and Fenris no longer had the pain tolerance he once had as a slave. Danarius seemed to take Fenris' defiance very seriously, and used the opportunity to assert his power over him. Fenris had never forgotten the particular form of torture that Danarius had devised for him. It was the reason that he found skin contact so aversive, especially from a mage.

"My patience wears thin, Fenris. I have invested a great deal in you, and you would do well not to test me." Fenris knelt in the antechamber of Danarius' suite of rooms and stared at the white marble floor as Danarius paced behind him. Fenris could feel the sharp vibrating snap of his boot heels on the polished floor, and sensed that the Magister was not feigning his agitation. A hand touched his shoulder, not rough but firm, possessive. Fenris breathed softly, forcing his face into a mask of indifference. It took effort, and this worried Fenris. If he could not control himself enough to convince Danarius that he had been successfully broken, then the possibility of escape would never present itself.

As if sensing Fenris' disquiet, Danarius quickly reminded him of another reason to practice obedience. From his fingers came a wave of magic that poured over Fenris' body in rivulets of liquid pain. The magic surged like lightning over the lyrium conduits in his skin, lighting them up so they appeared like white-hot cracks. Fenris' muscles bunched and cramped in violent seizures until he could neither move nor breathe. Danarius loosened his grasp on Fenris' shoulder, and the elf fell forward onto his hands.

Fenris gulped air, his chest heaving as residual traces of magic caused individual muscles to spasm. Danarius waited, appraising his little wolf with a clinical fascination that made Fenris feel ill. The Magister crouched and rested his elbows on his knees, studying the involuntary tics until the magic was spent. Then, prodding Fenris' side with one sharp finger, he began the torment again.

Fenris could not gauge how long the discipline lasted. He recalled realizing with certainty that his heart had stopped for one terrifying moment as Danarius propelled a massive wave of magic into the tangle of lyrium lines in the center of Fenris' chest. Then it was finished, as quickly it had begun.

"Get out." Danarius straightened coldly and swept his broad hands over the front of his robe. He turned towards the massive door to his chambers. "I will summon you in the morning."

"Yes Master," Fenris gasped, his voice hoarse from screaming. He struggled pick himself up from the slick floor, for once wanting nothing more than to comply. However his limbs had thoughts of their own, and a rippling seizure in his left leg sent Fenris back down to one knee.

"You've been dismissed, now leave!" The Magister shouted over his shoulder, his cold grey eyes flashing annoyance. "Ava," He called, motioning impatiently. "You are needed."

Fenris stumbled to the door leading to the rest of the house, and saw Ava rise from her perch beside the impressive entryway. She was so monochromatic with her thin white dress and spectrally pale skin that she seemed to blend into the white walls and floor. Fenris hadn't noticed her presence, and it irritated him. He recalled the ease with which she had compelled him to enter the estate against his will, and would have preferred to avoid the girl altogether. _Witch,_ he thought with disdain as she passed, the mask which obscured her impassive face glinting in the bright light of the antechamber.

Fenris knew the layout of the estate, even after nearly a decade. He might have preferred to forget, but he had trod the path between Danarius' chambers and his own cell of a room so many times that it seemed stored in his muscles, unruly as they were at present. Fenris made a right as he left the antechamber, then another right through a small door and into a service corridor, lined with linen closets and a washroom. Fenris opened the flimsy door near the end of the corridor, just before the service stairs. His limbs ached with each movement and still were still wracked by spasms, but all movement was immediately arrested upon entering the miniscule room.

Of course, he should have expected that this room would have been given to someone else in his absence. Hanging from the pipe in the ceiling were four gauzy white shifts and a seamed bodice, and tangled in a cheap comb on the washing table was a single strand of platinum hair. This was _her_ room now, obviously, but it seemed that a second narrow cot had been crowded into the tiny space. Fenris would have rather slept with the hounds than in the same room as that enchantress, but another residual jolt of magic lit his brands and sent his stumbling to the cot. He vowed to investigate the other sleeping arrangements when he had better control of his limbs.

Fenris slept the night, waking only halfway when Ava returned just before dawn.

* * *

Yellow light streamed in through the small, murky window, and Fenris finally stirred. He stretched his limbs as he rose, feeling some small measure of strength returning to him after the harrowing journey from Kirkwall. He was wearing only the linen pants from yesterday, but saw that a pair of coarse grey leggings and a leather jerkin had been deposited at the foot of his bed. He glanced at Ava, still sleeping with her face buried in the flat pillow. It must have been nearly sunrise when she returned from her duties, and Fenris spied a discarded shift halfway beneath her bed, stained rather obviously with blood. He might have found himself concerned, but as far as Fenris was concerned the girl deserved every drop she bled.

Despite her power, Ava was clearly no bodyguard to Danarius. Fenris was sure that he could have snapped her slight frame in half if she were prevented from speaking to convince him otherwise. Yet Danarius kept this slave very close, and had obviously invested in her; lyrium was worth its weight in gold. What was her purpose?

Fenris took advantage of the early hour (Danarius was always a late sleeper) to reacquaint himself with the layout of the estate. Only a few slaves were awake at this hour, getting a head start on the day's washing or other such duties. Fenris roamed about freely, watched only by the mercenary guards that stalked each floor. Danarius' enormous suite of rooms took up almost the entirety of the third floor, and contained the impressive marble antechamber, a massive bedroom, private library, study, and several rooms where Danarius conducted his grisly research. The only other space on that level was the service corridor in which his own (or Ava's) room was located. The second floor was populated by a series of guest suites, eight in total, and several sitting rooms that were rarely used except during exceptionally large parties. There was also a group of three smaller rooms clustered around a specialized library, reserved for Danarius' apprentices and their research. Fenris dared not enter this wing, as apprentices could be temperamental, but he knew its layout well due to his encounters with Hadriana. The encounters had not been pleasant, and Fenris recalled with particular relish the way her heart had pounded feverishly in his hand before he killed her.

The first floor was also the largest, due mostly to the enormous dining room. It was big enough to seat a hundred people, with room for mingling and dancing should the occasion require it. Attached was the kitchen, which could accommodate a staff of twenty, a small mess area for the slaves to eat in, and the larder. Just before the kitchen, off of the dining hall, was the entrance to the wine cellar that Danarius kept exquisitely stocked. The rest of the first floor was taken up by a guest library full of more mundane reading material than the apprentices' and Danarius' own, a large formal sitting room, a smoking room, a greenhouse filled with exotic plants (the domain of Jimson, a Dalish transplant and master gardener), and an observatory that was more decorative than functional.

Below the first floor were slave quarters, washrooms, laundry rooms, and all manner of storage. The barracks and armory were in a separate building at the back of the house, along with the kennel and a small stable. Surrounding them all were three walled in acres of lawns and gardens, a fortune's worth of real estate in such a crowded city. Most of it Fenris had never seen. His opportunities to leave the mansion proper were limited.

Satisfied that he recalled the layout and could navigate it in an emergency, Fenris proceeded to the kitchen. He had known the cook, Janessa, for years before his escape, but the woman who bustled about the kitchen now was unfamiliar to him. She busied herself preparing the Master's breakfast, all the while brusquely prompting a child slave to hand out bowls of cold soup to the dozen or so slaves arriving in the mess area for breakfast. Fenris felt their eyes on him, and took his bowl to a far corner of the room to eat in silence.

Fenris was planning a trip to the slaves' quarters to see about procuring a spare room, but he never had the chance. The new cook cleared her throat at his shoulder and he turned to see her holding a laden silver tray.

"The Master has asked for his breakfast. Please take this to him. He is in the study." She held out the heavy tray.

Fenris did not take his eyes off of his bowl, his eyes flashing with irritation. He had been hoping for a few hours to collect himself before he had to face Danarius again. "I'm not a chambermaid," Fenris replied sullenly, raising a spoonful of thin leek soup to his lips. "Send someone else." It was difficult not to attack his breakfast, having been hungry for weeks on end. He controlled himself with the knowledge that lunch was likely, if not certain.

"He's asked for you serah. You'll have to take your complaint to him, as I'm not listening to any grievances today. I've a banquet to prepare and no time for it." She sat the tray heavily on the table next to Fenris. "Mind you deliver it hot. I'd rather not be in room if you don't."

Fenris stared after the cook in amazement. Who was this woman? No slave in the household had ever spoken to him this way. His stunned expression elicited a few giggles from a pair of maids across the table, but they scattered to wash their dishes when Fenris turned in their direction, the tips of their ears flushing pink.

Fenris was used to being held at arm's length by the other slaves, who regarded him with fear, respect, and occasionally even jealously. This interaction was highly unusual, and Fenris struggled to make sense of it as he picked up the heavy tray. There was a high level of turnover amongst Danarius' slaves, as he had a nasty habit of murdering them. Fenris suspected that only a few faces in the house today had ever seen him kill at their Master's command, and so to the majority he must look like an elegantly tattooed fop. Not that it mattered. He didn't plan on staying long.

"Good morning Ava dear. Soup is on the table." The cook barely glanced up from the suckling pig she was busily dressing to greet the masked girl, who had just slipped into the kitchen. Feris noticed that she was walked somewhat stiffly, and wondered again what she had been doing until the wee hours of the morning.

"Is there any bread, Pavan? I slept too late and serah Arivan is waiting in the library." The dulcet sound of her voice gave Fenris gooseflesh, recalling how she had commanded him so easily just yesterday. Surely the house must not know of her uncanny power or they would not treat her so casually.

"Of course dear, resting by the fire. Soak it in broth if you like. Don't be late; we're all looking forward to hearing you tonight." Pavan shoved sliced apples into the swine's belly, up to her elbows in a meal she would never taste.

"Thank you." Ava glanced at Fenris, halfway to the door with his tray. His green eyes met her soft blue gaze for a moment, his filled with malice and hers unable to be read. Fenris crossed the kitchen with long strides and continued up the stairs to Danarius' suite. What the magister wanted with him this morning was a mystery, but Pavan had been astute when she said that it would be folly to keep him waiting.

It became quickly clear that Danarius had summoned Fenris for no other reason than to keep him busy. Danarius ate his breakfast with Fenris standing idly by, then sat behind his massive desk and answered correspondence, sorting through the research findings that various would-be apprentices had submitted in an effort to earn his favor. Danarius engaged Fenris in several very one-sided conversations regarding politics and social concerns, to which Fenris contributed only the odd "Of course Master" or "I see Master." The monotony was draining, but Fenris was relieved that Danarius did not had more specific plans for him. There were worse ways to spend his time, as he had been reminded of last night.

"There is a banquet tonight, pet. I've been away from home over a month."

"So I have gathered, Master."

"You'll serve wine. I trust you do not need instruction in this. I'd like you to pay attention to the first left-hand table. A few of the Magisters did not vote for my reappointment in the last election, and I'm coming to question their loyalty." The elf tried to pay attention to Danarius' explanations of which Magisters were now allies or rivals, a topic which concerned him as a bodyguard. Uncovering a plot would be the perfect means to convince Danarius that he could be trusted.

After several hours of ennui, the magister ceased his drone, focusing intently on a recent publication from the circle of magi, the topic of which no more concerned a slave than it did a garden cricket. Fenris stood with his back to the garishly papered wall, apathetically wondering if he would be released for lunch. He was relieved when the door to the study opened, presumably to see about Danarius' meal. However, it was not a chambermaid who entered, but Ava's ethereal form. Her stiffness seemed to have resolved itself and she approached Danarius' desk, bowing deeply.

"Ava, my little bird. I trust your morning was productive?" Danarius did not look at her, but continued riffling through the bound pages of the publication.

"Yes Master. 'L'enfant sans mère' is prepared, as is 'La grâce du Fabricant'. Serah Arivan was most instructive."

Danarius closed the book and steepled his fingers, considering. After a moment's thought he stood up and settled the matter. "Magister Silus is fond of Orlesian ballads, but he won't be impressed by the chantry nonsense. 'L'enfant sans mère' would be appropriate, just before dessert." The magister rounded the corner of his desk and placed the book on a shelf beside it.

"As you desire, Master."

Danarius crossed to Ava, positioning himself much closer to her than Fenris would have been comfortable with had he been to object of attention. The magister lifted a lined hand to Ava's face and cupped her wan cheek, his fingers tangling into her loose white hair. "That's my little songbird," he crooned, looking down at her head with a sickening mixture of pride and lust. Fenris couldn't be certain, but he thought that she leaned her head into his touch.

"Go prepare yourself. Take Fenris with you." Fenris tried not to scowl at the suggestion. He didn't want to go anywhere with her, let alone to a bath.

"Yes Master." He released her, and she bowed again before turning to leave. She glanced at Fenris, blonde brows raised as if to ask if he would follow. He bowed to Denarius and proceeded after her through the ornate study doors and past the antechamber, into the rest of the house.

Together they descended to the slaves' washroom: a stone-tiled expanse about six paces wide and twice as many long. Along one wall hung four spigots which dispensed clean water, a feat of engineering present in few other cities in Thedas. The opposite wall boasted a series of linen cabinets that contained clothing, soaps, toiletries, combs, rags and cloths, and a few common folk remedies. A long bench ran down the center of the room, with a long drain underneath. At each end, wood stoves kept the room reasonably comfortable.

Fenris stalked to the far end of the room and opened a cabinet, pulling out a rough cloth and a bar of lye soap. Ava, thankfully, did not press him for space. Having settled at opposite ends of the washroom, they proceeded to ignore one another as they washed and oiled their skin. Danarius preferred for his belongings to appear well cared for when company arrived, so the regimen took rather longer than usual, especially for Ava. As Fenris laced his black leathers, he saw that the girl was still wrapped in a coarse towel and combing through her wispy shoulder length hair. She clothed herself in a black dress very similar to the white one that she wore daily, tying her own bodice in the back with practiced hands. The capped sleeves exposed her branded arms for appraising eyes, and the neckline was wide but modest. Like Fenris, she wore no shoes. They were a matched set from head to toe.

Fenris pulled on a long black jerkin, and watched with interest as Ava applied charcoal to her eye lids and painted her lips beneath her mask. "What is the point of that?" He asked, a slight edge to his voice.

The girl glanced at him from the corner of her eye, not turning from the dingy mirror tacked on the inside of a cabinet door. She held her mask up to her face and spoke through it, which puzzled Fenris further. "The point? It is expected of me. Master… appreciates it when others covet his goods." Fenris wondered at the hint of resentment in her otherwise melodic tone.

"You plan to bewitch someone tonight."

Ava replaced her mask, hooking the thin wires over the peaks of her ears. As Fenris expected, her lips were completely obscured despite their paint. "If Master asks it of me, yes. I suspect that he will."

"Who?" Fenris demanded. He realized that this was the first conversation he had held with the girl, and it was frustratingly devoid of real information.

She shrugged slightly, her narrow shoulders shifting beneath the soft black fabric of her dress and disturbing the gentle curls forming at the ends of her quickly drying hair. She looked even more sickly and pale in the dark shade. "Does it matter? The whims of the Magisters are not ours to fathom."

The sentiment might have infuriated him, but there was a trace of irony in her words that made him question his disdain for this woman. She had surely felt the torture and injustice that he had (and perhaps more, if his growing suspicions regarding her household position we true), and Fenris began to wonder if was so impossible that she had come to the same conclusion that he had years ago. Perhaps, like him, she was surviving and biding her time. It was something to consider.

* * *

The banquet was uncomfortable, to say the least. Dozens of Magisters and lesser nobles had arrived to celebrate Danarius' return, but the underlying purpose was for the Master to show off his repossessed slave. Fenris endured a multitude of stares and condescending glances as the entirety of the dining room speculated about his reappearance and what possessed Danarius to go through such trouble on Fenris' behalf. The theories were rather lewd in some cases. The only mercy was that no one felt curious enough to speak to him directly, which would have been highly irregular.

He served wine, as Danarius required, and Ava did the same. Fenris remained mostly on the left half of the room, attentive to the eavesdropping target that Danarius had indicated at the first table left of dais. Ava conducted herself mainly at the right side of the room, and Fenris noted that she paid special attention to the ridiculously dressed Magister Silus, seated to Danarius' right. The abominable man groped her thighs at every opportunity, and she smiled demurely beneath her mask and endured it without complaint. Fenris began to suspect that she was encouraging it, standing a bit to close to the man as she leaned in from his left arm to refill his glass, still mostly full from the last time she'd refreshed it.

Fenris' listening was not terribly successful. The politicians he shadowed spoke mainly of their wives and trade investments, the Archon's recent affairs, and a slave revolt in Vol Dorma that had interrupted trade along the Imperial Highway. The only matter of interest that Fenris could glean was that Magister Corwin had recently attended an event held by the Black Divine, but for all Fenris knew Danarius had been invited to the same reception.

After the main course dishes had been cleared, Danarius stood up from his seat on the dais and cleared his throat. It took several minutes for the din of dinner conversation to die down, but when it did Danarius waved his hand absently at Ava, who was standing to his right, and addressed his guests.

"Friends! You will be pleased to know that I have prepared a brief performance for your entertainment." That was all he said before being seated. It was not necessary to give a slave any introduction or credit in this crowd.

Ava stood beside the dais, in the corner between two tables. She squared her shoulders, and her back was poker straight. With her feet spread shoulder width apart and her knees slightly bent, Fenris thought she looked ready for battle. However, the sound that came from her was not a battle cry, but a lament that stunned him with its sincerity. Never before in Tevinter, Par Vollen, or Kirkwall had Fenris heard her match, and from the reactions of the guests he supposed that they'd not heard such singing before either. The sound rang through the room, piercing and utterly perfect as it echoed in the large room. The most beautiful aspect was the genuine emotion on her face and in her voice, mournful enough that it didn't matter that Fenris couldn't understand a word of Orlesian.

_Parfois __je me sens comme __un enfant sans mère.__  
__Parfois __je me sens __abandonnée __et mal aimé.__  
__Parfois j'ai l'impression __que tu m'as __quitté,__  
__un long chemin __de chez eux._

_Parfois __je me sens comme __je suis si seul.__  
__Parfois j'ai l'impression __sombre et solitaire.__  
__Parfois j'ai l'impression __que vous __ne m'aimez pas,__  
__et je suis __très __loin de chez eux._

_Parfois j'ai l'impression __que la liberté __est proche.__  
__Parfois je me sens __comme si mort __trouve tout près.__  
__Parfois __j'ai l'impression que __je serai libre,__  
__Mais je suis si __loin de chez eux._

As the last clear note died out in the hall, Fenris noted tears on a number of cheeks. Ava bowed once to the crowd, and then retreated back to her sideboard to rerieve a bottle of Aggregio with which to fill some near empty glasses. There was no applause or congratulatory words for the pale slave, but hushed chatter and appraising glances betrayed the guests' new consideration for her. She avoided their glances humbly as she weaved between the servers bringing dessert.

As guests began to leave, Fenris took his place at Danarius' left shoulder and Ava at his right. Two paces before them, Danarius and Magister Silus were holding a hushed conversation. Silus seemed excited, and Danarius was smiling magnanimously with a careful and calculating look in his eyes. Silus turned to leave through the rear of the hall towards the opulent staircase, staring rather intensely at Ava as he passed. She turned to look at Danarius, her strawberry blonde brows raised just slightly. Danarius gave the tiniest hint of a nod, and she departed through the kitchen towards the service stairway.

Fenris returned to his shared room after being finally dismissed, and began to puzzle out the curious events of the evening. The silent exchange between Ava and the Master might have meant little to Fenris if not for their earlier conversation in the washroom. If Master required it, she would bewitch someone tonight… Danarius wanted something from Silus, and Ava was to procure it from him. Fenris believed that he now knew the tactic she might use; she was no warrior, but Danarius had spent the fortune necessary to brand her with lyrium for some other purpose. She was entertainment, and not just of the musical variety. Ava was a body slave, and this role combined with the power of her voice made her a perfect agent to discover the secrets of Danarius' rivals.

She was a tool for Danarius, as surely as he himself was. While Fenris' job was to protect and intimidate, hers was to seduce and extract. Fenris was a threat, plainly seen. Ava was as well, but disguised as a sweet reward. The two of them, a matched set of oars with which Danarius navigated the perilous tides of Tevinter politics, one each for his right hand and his left.

The final evidence of this was that Ava was not present in their room, and did not return for hours. When she did finally appear, once again only shortly before dawn broke through their small and dirty window, she did not look well. The charcoal she had painted onto her eyes stained her cheeks, and Fenris could see bruises forming on her neck. She seemed startled to find Fenris sitting up on his cot in the half-darkness, waiting for her. She wrapped her arms around her ribs as she met his gaze, her light blue eyes defiant despite the tear tracks just beneath. She moved gingerly to the edge of her bed and reached to untie the back of her bodice. Ava draped it over the end of the bed, never taking her eyes from him. Her face was openly hostile, and Fenris was suddenly aware of how she must feel, returning from an obviously distressing evening to be stared at by yet another stranger as she undressed. Fenris wasn't sure yet if she was worth his pity, but he averted his eyes and laid down, his curiosity satisfied. Instead of feeling content with his new understanding of exactly why Ava spent her days and nights at Danarius' right hand, he felt sick to his stomach.

In the remaining hours of the early morning, Fenris could not sleep. Instead, he recalled the mournful beauty of Ava's singing, echoed in their tiny room as she softly wept.

_Parfois __je me sens comme __un enfant sans mère, un long chemin __de chez eux._


	4. Heartbeat

Dear Reader,

Two days late, and my sincere apologies. However, it is one hell of a chapter. It surely needs editing. I will do it later.

After much research, I chose "Heres" as a title for the apprentices as it is Latin for successor. Magister is Latin for master or teacher, so I thought the honorific complimented the cannon relatively well.

Remember that notice I gave in chapter 1 about how the story is rated M for a good reason? Well hold on to your knickers because you were warned, my friends.

Enjoy,

B.

* * *

The Wren's Cage

Chapter 4: Heartbeat

Fenris settled into the drab routines of Danarius' estate with frustrating ease. His tasks were simple, compared to many of the other slaves'. He fetched things for his Master, delivered messages about the estate, served food and drink, and stood or knelt idly by as the Master went about his business. Occasionally, when guests came to ingratiate themselves, Fenris made every effort to appear intimidating while Ava stood demurely at his side. Danarius did not gift her to any other visitors as he had with Magister Silus, though she still spent every evening in Danarius' chambers, occasionally until dawn.

This infuriated Fenris. Previously he had hated her, feared her, but on the night of the banquet she had been so vulnerable, even rebellious, and since then his distaste for her had evaporated. It was difficult to fear someone who seemed so defenseless, though Fenris was well aware that her innocence might be deliberate. Mostly, he identified with her. Danarius had marked him and turned him into a weapon, which he wielded at will. Ava, he had turned into a toy. Fenris noted angrily the stares she received from guests and apprentices. Once he had been the object of their attentions, and he knew what would occur if they caught her alone in a corridor. She seemed either oblivious to this danger, or resigned to it: Fenris could not be sure.

Most confusing to Fenris was how Ava responded to Danarius. He himself was pleasant and compliant, but maintained his distance and made every attempt to avoid displays of emotion. Ava, on the other hand, was openly affectionate. Fenris had seen Danarius touch her, lewdly, on several occasions, and she had sighed and rubbed against him like a cat. When she returned each morning, sometimes covered in blood, she did not weep as she had after Magister Silus. Fenris began to wonder, angrily, if she might actually love the Magister. The thought made him ill.

Five nights after the banquet, Fenris awoke in the predawn hours with a feeling of malaise. Earlier today Danarius had placed his hand on Ava's shoulder, and she had pressed her cheek to it, blue eyes gently closed. It had incensed Fenris. He knew she did not blindly accept her role, her comments before the banquet had made it clear that she was not mindless. So how could she be so affectionate to him?

His disquiet made it impossible to fall back asleep, so Fenris roused himself and left his room, wondering if he might find anything in the guest library to read. Danarius didn't know he could read, so it was a risk, but at this hour of the night he was unlikely to meet anyone who might report him. However, as he descended the service stairs to the first floor, he heard a curious sound that made him halt, mesmerized. It was muffled and melodic and completely otherworldly, and Fenris followed it down the stairs and to the back of the house.

It was music, but not like any he had heard before.

He rounded the corner to peer into the gloom of the observatory, and there she was. Dressed in her customary white linen beneath the domed roof, Ava stood with her heels lifted and her arms light at her sides, a bird about to take flight. Like the rest of the house, the room was dark, lit only by the scant light that entered through the massive skylights, illuminating a large brass telescope, rusty with disuse, a desk piled with astronomical charts and several dark leather chairs. In the gloom Ava looked as ethereal as she had in the hold of Danarius' ship, as if her pallid skin glowed from within. Fenris saw that it was no illusion: Her lyrium brands, barely visible in daylight, were softly luminous and betrayed some intense emotion that Fenris could not interpret. Ava held her mask in her hand, and she was making the most remarkable sound.

The song was wordless, just a pure sound that rose through the air like a bit of pollen, wistful and languishing in the curved space. Fenris had no acute appreciation for music, but still he found himself transfixed as the sound seemed to pass right through him, vibrating his very bones. He had wondered what strength her singing would carry without the mask, and here it was: Fenris' heart leapt with each soaring note. He stood in the arched doorway, bound by the mournful strains that echoed off the plaster walls, until she replaced her mask and sank into a leather chair, apparently spent.

Fenris was waiting when Ava returned to their cell of a room, seated cross legged on his cot, deep in though and wishing desperately for a bottle of wine to materialize in his fist. She glanced at him, suspicious that he was awake at such an hour, but went about her routine: combing her wispy hair, untying her bodice and draping it over the footboard.

"I've wondered for a week what you do all night long. I thought that Danarius kept you… busy." He stared at her as she washed her face in the chipped basin, removing her mask briefly to wipe her mouth.

She glanced at him warily. "He often does." Her words were cautious, carefully chosen.

"How do you stand it?" Fenris spat, his tone accusatory.

"I… don't understand." Ava's pale eyebrows drew down in confusion. "How do I stand what?"

Fenris' eyes flashed angrily. Did he really have no idea what he meant? Was she so mindless, so resigned to be nothing but a slave, a whore? "His touch! The stench of him. I know it, it disgusts me."

Ava exhaled from her nose with all the haughty annoyance of a mother shaming her child. "I have learned to respond appropriately."

"Of course!" His words dripped with sarcasm. He knew it wasn't true. He'd watched her weep after the banquet, thoroughly shamed. She didn't accept her place as fully as she'd like him to believe, not even close. "What about Silus, then?"

Her face darkened. "That was different." Ava's voice was suddenly small, and she would no longer meet his eyes.

Fenris stood from his cot, stalking the floor in frustration. "I don't see how. Danarius ordered it, didn't he? Shouldn't you have been pleased to fulfill his wretched whims?" He was being cruel now, and he knew it. Still, he could not believe that she embraced this life. There must be more choices than mindless servitude or death. There must be a middle ground.

"Stop." She raised her hands to the sides of her face, blocking out his words. "How dare you judge me. I won't discuss it!"

Fenris snatched on of her hands away from her ear, gripping her narrow wrist in his calloused fingers. "Because you hate it," he hissed, bringing his face very close to hers. "You hate him and what he makes you do."

She was stunned, and stumbled over her angry reply. "How I feel doesn't matter. I can hate it or love it or pretend I am elsewhere but I don't have the option of dissent, Fenris. Do you?" He was silent, his green eyes boring into her. Her voice rose, fearful and furious. "If Danarius ordered you to tear my heart from my breast, would you hesitate? Yes, I know about that. Not quite everyone had forgotten to fear you when I woke in the Master's _workroom_." She spat out the last word with disdain. Fenris remembered that room, three doors down from the Magister's own bedroom. It was a torture room, no matter how the maleficar referred to it.

Fenris dropped her wrist and turned away. Would he hesitate to kill her, if it meant that Danarius would trust him implicitly, arm him with a sword, give him a chance for escape? Could he be so ruthless? Once he could have said yes without thinking, but his time as a free man had changed him. He'd seen compassion, seen kindness that he had never imagined as a slave. If he reverted to brutality, to a desperate slave that would carry out any order simply to win himself a chance at freedom… he remembered Verania, his sister, who traded his life for a false opportunity of apprenticeship. "I would hesitate."

It was clear from her expression that she didn't believe him. How could she? The idea that someone might put her life before theirs was as ridiculous to her as the thought of Hawke or his companions on a rescue mission to Tevinter. "Then you'd be dead. Forgive me if I try to avoid that fate." She turned to her cot.

"You're still wrong." Fenris said softly, turning to stare as her lanky frame as she prepared to sleep. "You can dissent. I heard you singing tonight."

She froze in place, suddenly frightened. Her musical voice shook as she pleased, "Please… It isn't allowed. Tell me you won't-"

"I won't." He said simply.

She exhaled, relieved, and climbed onto her cot. Her white hair spilled over the straw-stuffed pillow like a lace curtain. Fenris thought again that he could snap her in half, but felt sure that he would never do it, no matter the incentive. "Thank you," she whispered.

* * *

The next day, Fenris stood in the doorway of one of the apprentices' chambers, dumbfounded.

"What do you want, slave? A turn?"

Fenris' eyes widened at the scene he had stumbled upon. Danarius had told Fenris to find his apprentice, and Fenris had located Lucanus. Unfortunately the man was in no condition to answer a summons as he was currently hilt deep in a skinny elven backside. A flash of pale blue light shot up the length of a thin leg.

_Ava,_ Fenris thought with disbelief. _Fasta vaas…_ He wished desperately that he had not found this. It was hard enough to know Ava's purpose in the household, with the protective feelings he was developing despite his better judgment. Seeing it firsthand was a new level of discomfort that drew dangerously upon Fenris' bottomless well of rage.

Lucanus held a tangled clump of her hair in his fist and his hand gripped her face across the mouth, pulling her to him so that her back arched painfully. He was relentless, ravaging her with long and steady strokes that made her sob against his rough hold. Her wide eyes landed on Fenris and she began to struggle, lunging away from Lucanus and screaming against the man's palm. He yanked her back onto him and then, from the tips of his fingers, sparks of magic curled across her face and down her neck. She convulsed in a manner that was very familiar to Fenris, sickeningly so.

Lucanus smiled cruelly. "Mm. That's it."

Something wasn't right. Ava did not resist Danarius' touch, even enjoyed it, though it infuriated Fenris to think it. However, she seemed desperate to escape Lucanus. Was she simply embarrassed by Fenris' presence? The shards of a broken vase scattered amongst the shreds of her flimsy white dress suggested that she had been struggling before he arrived. Fury was rising inside him, cold and immediate. _Keep calm, _Fenris chided himself. _Killing Lucanus will not help her._

"Are you still here? State your purpose or leave, I am clearly busy."

Fenris cleared his throat. "Master desires your presence in his chambers. Ava's as well." His eyes narrowed at the marks forming on her porcelain skin.

"I'm otherwise engaged and so is she. Tell Danarius I'll be up later."

"With all due respect Heres, I do not think that he intends to wait." Indeed, Danarius was in a very foul mood today. Fenris was not eager to deliver the message that Lucanus wasn't coming, and Lucanus had known the Magister long enough to realize that he did not reserve this wrath solely for slaves.

Lucanus withdrew, shoving Ava away from him. She stumbled to the floor and laid still. "Very well. Get what you need and get out." The man sighed in annoyance and snatched his robe from the floor. Fenris crossed the polished stone floor in three strides, gathered Ava in his arms, and left the apprentice quarters as quickly as possible.

He had managed to get Ava to their shared room in less than a minute, racing up the service stairs two by two. He sat her on the bed and grabbed the chipped basin from the washing table. "We only have a minute. Danarius wants-"

"No!" Ava cried, her eyes suddenly focused. She had not moved as he carried her, shock clear on her bruised face. That dissolved now, replaced by fear. "He can't see me, he'll kill me! I never want to, but it won't matter and I can't _speak_ to him…"

Fenris seethed as understanding dawned on him. If Ava was intimate with anyone that Danarius had not ordered, even against her will, she could be punished. If she used the only weapon she had to prevent it, her unmasked voice, she could also be punished. Any claim of defense would be her word against the apprentice's, and she wouldn't win that debate. No wonder Ava was so receptive to Danarius' whims: If she was compliant in every other way, he might choose to exercise mercy. The ridiculous injustice of it made Fenris furious.

"Is this… the first time this has happened?"

Ava closer her eyes as tears spilled over her cheek. Her voice was tiny and sweet, barely a whisper. "No."

"How often, Ava?" Fenris demanded.

Her look of shame was all he needed. His brands flashed blue so that he literally glowed with rage. He wanted to kill Lucanus, painfully. He was tempted to stalk back downstairs and do so immediately, but forced his rage down into his chest, controlling himself. He was in crisis mode. Emotion would not help the situation. He needed to think.

"We can hide it from him. Lucanus can't say anything or he'll be at risk. Get dressed quickly, and give me your mask."

Ava handed over the mask and took the washing cloth. Fenris turned his back to afford her some privacy and studied the mask. It was made of a fine silverite mesh, so dense that it was almost opaque, but not quite. The metal was soft and pliant. Fenris gripped both sides and stretched it horizontally and then vertically, expanding it by just enough to hide the yellowing bruises on Ava's face.

She dressed hurriedly and drew a comb through her hair, finally replacing her mask over her swollen lips. Fenris reached out and quickly wiped a tear from her face, a small gesture but enough to make lend Ava some resolve. She straightened her spine and blinked.

"Keep it together. There will be time to cry later."

They arrived in the marble antechamber ahead of Lucanus, bowing in unison to Danarius, who waited with his lips pressed in a thin smile. Lucanus breezed in behind them, pushing roughly past Fenris to approach his mentor. He was clearly still irritated, and struggling to hide it. Danarius glanced at the pair of slaves and motioned to them, and they knelt side by side.

"Magister, you sent for me?" Lucanus buried his annoyance under a layer of propriety. He bowed, though only slightly.

Danarius' face had a shrewd, haughty expression; a slight smile, and cold, calculating eyes. "I did, Heres. A little bird has brought a worrisome matter to my attention." He turned towards the slaves, and Ava shuddered. "Ava, my lovely wren, recount for us what Magister Silus told you five nights past."

Ava swallowed nervously. "Magister Silus said that he received notes on your research, Master."

Danarius' smile transformed into a sickly grin. "And from whom did the illustrious Magister receive these notes?" His voice rose in volume, and he sounded almost cheerful. He was enjoying this revelation.

"He… he received them from Heres Lucanus, Master." Ava's eyes were trained on the floor.

Lucanus' face drained of blood. As white as the marble surrounding him, he kept his expression blank to avoid betraying any guilt. Danarius, on the other hand, seemed positively gleeful. "So, Heres Lucanus. It appears you've been rather busy. Tell me, to how many other Magisters did you disseminate my research?"

Lucanus made a sound as if he were choking on something. "Surely, Magister, you do not believe this… _whore. _Why would anyone have told her such a ridiculous falsehood? Of course I never gave your research to Magister Silus or any other person. She has no way of knowing these things. Clearly, the bitch lies."

"My darling wren, show Heres Lucanus how you extracted this information from Magister Silus, and place him in a position to grovel."

Ava's face was ashen as she reached up to her ears to remove her mask. Fenris saw that the bruises forming about her mouth had purpled, and were quite visible. Her hands were shaking, and Fenris hated Danarius for affecting her so.

Her voice was timid, but still beautiful; it echoed through the room despite its soft volume. Even though her words were not directed at him, Fenris still felt that he would have done anything she asked of him. He was reminded again of why he had feared her when he arrived, though it was hard now to be afraid of this trembling girl.

"_Kneel_."

Lucanus knelt immediately. His eyes widened, and Fenris recognized his look of horror. "Magister! What is this?"

"You didn't think I favored her solely for sex, Lucanus? How very little you see." Danarius stalked closer to Lucanus, standing very close beside his stricken form.

"She is lying Magister! She seeks to ruin me, she is a snake!" Panic flashed in the man's eyes, and Fenris couldn't help but feel that this was justice.

"Now why, Lucanus-" Danarius looked rather pointedly at Ava's bruised face. "would she have reason to do such a vengeful thing?"

Lucanus swallowed heavily, realizing the trap he had placed himself in. "Magister please… I implore you for mercy-"

"Lucanus, begging really doesn't become you. Besides, your form is piss poor. Any of my slaves could do it better." Danarius tuned on his heel and walked away from his kneeling apprentice, back towards the gloomy depths of his chambers. "Kill him, Fenris. Send someone to clean it up."

Fenris looked up from the marble floor at a shocked and shuddering Lucanus, and he let loose the reins of his rage. Cool and controlled, it crept up from the deep well in his chest, and he began to light up. "It will be as you desire, Master."

Danarius waved his hand dismissively as he passed out of the antechamber. "Of course it will."

Fenris stood in a single swift movement and crossed to Lucanus, whose eyes were wide with horror. Fenris grabbed the front of the man's robe in his fist and lifted him from the marble floor. He spoke very softly through his teeth. "He ordered your death for duplicity, but I do this for _her_, not Danarius. Enjoy the void, defiler." Lucanus stared, dumbstruck, as Fenris' hand and forearm blazed blue and became transparent, passing through the veil itself. He thrust his arm forward into the apprentice's chest, and he could feel Lucanus' heart pounding frantically in his hand. Lucanus' eyes rolled back into his head, and Fenris let the lyrium's power recede, allowing his hand to leave the fade. Then he pulled and Lucanus' chest exploded in a shower of blood and cartilage, coating his arms and torso. Finally, Fenris clenched his fist, and Lucanus' heart burst, splattering his face with gore.

Fenris dropped the corpse and flicked his hands, shaking the loose blood from his fingers. He smiled darkly, admiring his work. He could have crushed Lucanus' heart inside his chest, and the man would have died painlessly. He hadn't deserved such mercy, and it pleased Fenris to have dealt him the pain he was owed. This was justice.

Fenris heard the soft sound of fabric over skin behind him. _Ava…_ he had forgotten about his audience, about anything else but the fury that had welled up from his chest like a flood. Surely, she was appalled. She would fear him now, like all the others. Fenris turned slowly, anticipating the look of antipathy that would surely twist her pale face. He held his hands out to either side, still dripping with blood, and stared at her with his chin raised. He wouldn't beg for her understanding. Danarius had made him a killer many times over. He was not able to shed this, though he had tried, and he wouldn't apologize for it.

She was standing at the edge of the pool of blood forming over the white floor, but for once today she did not look afraid. Instead she seemed solemn, and with her silverite mask still in her hands, Fenris could see a faint smile on her lips. She met his eyes with her own, narrowed as she contemplated something.

"Equitable recompense, I think," she said seriously. Her soft, unfettered voice washed over Fernis like a sigh. It took several moments for him to process the idea that she wasn't condemning him, wasn't afraid of him. She stepped towards him and took his hand in hers, heedless of the blood that covered him.

"You don't fear me." He stated simply, still in a state of disbelief. Of course she wasn't. She hadn't been before, and she'd known what he was capable of.

"Do you fear _me?" _She countered, a soft smile curling between the bruises on each cheek. It was a question, not a command, but it seemed that she anticipated his answer.

He was taken aback. Was he afraid of her? He knew that he should be. She could order him to do anything: to kill himself, to sit idly and allow himself to be murdered or debased. It was unwise of him not to, but when he looked at her his rage dried up, and he felt calm. It surprised him. "No. Not until you direct me to fall on my own sword, and in that moment I will be quite surprised."

"As will I when I feel your hand around my heart." Ava's voice was tender, and her blue eyes hinted at layers of meaning. Fenris suddenly realized that he found her achingly beautiful, despite the blood that speckled her. She was still holding his hand, and her touch made his skin shiver pleasantly, as if something strange were happening where their matched lyrium markings came into contact.

Ava pulled Fenris away from the pool of gore, replacing her mask as they left the antechamber. They passed four slaves in the corridors between the marble room and their own tiny cell, and each one gasped at the grisly sight of them, walking hand in bloodied hand. Fenris took no notice, fixated instead on her heartbeat, pulsing in her palm like beating wings.


End file.
